


friendliest place on earth

by orphan_account



Series: tomorrow they'll see what we are [3]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Friendship, Gen, other characters (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:38:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Spot Conlon looks after his boys because it's the right thing to do. Sometimes, he has to look after others too.





	friendliest place on earth

It's probably too much to hope for that once the strike is settled, things will go back to normal.

At first, it seems like everything has. His boys run off to their regular selling spots, he takes his own bundle of papes and heads towards his own, and the other newsies nod or wave as he passes by. The sounds and smells of the city are the same as always, light peeking over the buildings as Brooklyn comes to life — Jewish delis opening their doors, old asian grandmas stepping outside to clean their doorsteps, echoes of rapid-fire Italian and Spanish audible along the streets as working men and women leave their homes for yet another day. Spot looks and listens, and feels a sense of distant satisfaction: his borough is still itself, still running under the dirt and grime.

But, of course, life just can't stay normal for long. He catches sight of a familiar silhouette and off-blue shirt, and finds his steps changing their direction for no reason to head for Sheepshead instead of his usual selling spot. Race is in a hurry — as he usually is, a result of both his excess nervous energy and the distance he has to travel, not to mention his unnecessarily long legs — and Spot can't catch up with him until they've nearly reached their destination. The races are close enough that they can hear the horses whinnying by the time he falls into step with the one Manhattan newsie allowed on Brooklyn turf.

"So, Race, how's y—" Spot finally catches a good look of his companion's ( _friend's_ ) face, and stops talking for a surprised moment. "Man, you'se lookin' like shit, Racetrack. What'd you do, walk inta a pole a few times instead of sleepin'?"

Race snorts, raising one eyebrow and pointing at the spectacular, if faded, bruise around his left eye. "This? 'S a few days old, gift from one of them cops. Second day of the strike, remember? You'se and the rest of New York held out on us, and they busted us up pretty good. Got Crutchie, too— kid was in the Refuge, just came back today." It doesn't really explain the dark shadows under both his eyes, looking like the result of a few nights without sleep or even rest, but Race is unforthcoming with answers and immediately sets about selling his papes as only he can — a cigar clenched between his teeth and a gleam in his eyes just a little too manic to be a trick of the light. A part of Spot wants to ask, wants to know what Race isn't telling him ( _it's not like Race to keep secrets, not from Spot_ ), but his curiosity is eclipsed by the way his companion's ( _friend's_ ) grin is a bit too wide and blinding in the sunlight.

( _It's always this way, when they sell together_ ).

The races aren't too busy, but business goes about as well as usual. A couple of regulars stop by to chat with Race, ask him about his bets for the day, flick his cap and talk about the strike in hushed voices. For a Manhattan newsie, he's very popular in Brooklyn, and runs out of papes twice as fast as Spot. Of course, he runs off the moment he's out of papes, citing a desire for some food and a nice, soft bed ( _well, a bed, at least — they know the Lodging House wasn't really all that comfortable_ ). 

Spot can't really bring himself to be resentful — Race does live in another borough, after all. Instead, he just makes his way to his usual spot to sell the rest of his papes, nodding and cracking quips with his own regulars as he sees them on the street. This is normal, things are as they've been and should be. The day grows late and he shoes some of his younger boys back home, promising to take care of their last few papes for them and pass on the money when he turns in for the night. ( _It's not something he thinks any of the other boroughs know or need to know, but Spot Conlon looks out for his own_ ).

After selling his last papes, he stops by a deli for a glass of water ( _the owners know him, this is a routine_ ) and splashes a bit on his face before heading out to check the streets for any stragglers. Kid Blink is usually out late, and Smalls is such a competitive seller she often tries to sneak away from him when he scouts everyone out to send them back to the Brooklyn Lodging House. It's normal, it's fine, and he's just found the two of them cooing over a stray dog and shooed them home when—

"Spot! You'se still out here, good." 

Now, he doesn't jump or start, but he does whirl around as quickly as his reflexes allow. "Racetrack, what in the _hell_ is you doin' here? You'se sellin' here in the day, but you lives in Manhattan. We ain't meetin' tonight, remember?"

"Ain't what I'se here for— Spot, you ain't seen Jack around, have you?" Race skids to a halt beside Spot, breathing a bit heavily and trying to wipe sweat off his forehead but just succeeding at smudging the dirt and dust there instead. His eyes are bright like stars and manic in their gleam, but his smile has been replaced by lips pursed in a thin, grim line. "He ain't come back yet, and I'se worried. I'd go find him, but he ain't gonna listen to me— you'se a leader, he'll listen to _you_ , so could you—"

"You wants me to look for him? Race, is you outta your damn _mind_?"

Apparently, he is, because Race just shakes his head and grips Spot's upper arms with thin fingers like vices. "Spot, this strike _wrecked_ him. I'se already checked most'a Manhattan, and he ain't there— Spot, we knows the bridge ain't yours or ours, what if he's headin' there an' just— _just decides to—_ "

It takes Spot a few minutes to process. "What, Race, you don't think Jack's gonna—"

"He gets this _look_ , sometimes— like he ain't lookin' at us, like he ain't even _here_." Stepping back a few steps, Race sighs and seems to make an effort to calm himself down, running a hand through his hair and chewing at the end of his cigar. It seems to anchor him, a bit, and his eyes no longer have quite as wild a look to them. "Crutchie's noticed it too, we all has — Jack just wasn't himself this morning, and I ain't— _I can't—_ Spot, if Jack leaves, I'se not ready to take over. We can't lose him now, and I'se just—"

"Alright, alright, cool it, kid. I'll look for Jack. Just—" Spot's not really sure what drives him to do it, any of it, but he crosses his arms and nods firmly. "—Man, you'se really not lookin' good. Go home an' _sleep_ , Racetrack. Stop doin' all this worryin' and— I dunno, rest, or something."

The tension and manic energy leave Race like a whoosh of air and he almost seems to deflate, chin dipping down as he rubs his eyes tiredly before returning Spot's nod and disappearing back into the streets towards Manhattan. ( _The kid thinks like a horse runs — thoughts jumping in the air and galloping forward too fast to follow — and sometimes it seems like the rest of him just can't quite keep up. His wit's as quick and sharp as a pickpocket's knife, but Spot knows it just means that the fear and panic dart behind his eyes just as fast. Racetrack is too alert for his own good— a predator with a mind wired like prey, always noticing and reacting and feeling too much at once_ ).

Spot waits a few moments, breathing in and letting the cold air of his home fill his lungs, before squaring his shoulders and setting off to find one more boy who needs to be sent back home. Jack Kelly isn't one of his boys, isn't even really his _friend_ , but he knows that newsies have to stick together and stick up for each other no matter what.

When you ain't got nothing but each other, that's what you have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Spot's addition! I'm realizing I'm kinda going backwards in time bit by bit with these — Crutchie's ended when Race got back (which is in the beginning of Jack's), and here Spot's ends when he goes to find Jack (which is about halfway through Crutchie's). Race's is probably gonna end when he goes to find Spot, haha!
> 
> I'm debating whether or not to also add one-shots for Katherine and the Jacobs' in this short series. Preferences? They'd be a bit different than these ones, since they're characters that would be seeing this a bit more from the outside.
> 
> If you like it, please comment! <3


End file.
